


The Queer Stuff You Need

by SepulchreDeVagisPhantasiis



Series: All the Smut [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, F/F, First Time Blow Jobs, Gay Sex, Lesbian Sex, M/M, Minor Character Death, Other, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:28:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25555084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SepulchreDeVagisPhantasiis/pseuds/SepulchreDeVagisPhantasiis
Summary: A place for my LGBTQ+ sex scenes. I'll keep tags updated and put relevamt notes at the beginning of each one.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character, Original Male Character(s) & Original Male Character(s), Original Non-Binary Character(s)/Original Non-Binary Character(s)
Series: All the Smut [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1852942
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just wlw morning cuddles and some cute sex

The warmth of her body next to mine is the first thing I notice as I'm dragging myself awake. I shift closer and she sits her phone down on the nighstand, turns towards me and slips her arms around me to pull me closer. Her lips are soft against my forehead when she whispers, "Good morning, sleeping beauty."

I grunt at her and she gasps in mock offense until I pull her down into a long, slow kiss, and she melts against me. When she tries to tangle her hands in the hair I've buzzed off I pull away to kiss her blushing cheeks. "Did you sleep well? How long were you waiting for me to wake up?"

She hums in her noncommittal no-comment way so I give her rump a little pat and she gasps a little, bats at my arm. "Rude." But she's smiling, and gives me another kiss before finally answering. "I slept okay. I just woke up early. Probably only about half an hour before you. I wasn't really paying much attention to the time."

I give her a little nudge. "Were you reading? Anything good?"

She gives me another kiss, gives a gentle tug of encouragement so we turn, her back pressed to the bed when she answers. "I was trying to catch up on the news, but it was depressing. So I decided to get caught up on some other reading instead."

I press a few soft kisses along her shoulder, her jaw. "Anything new in the news, then?"

She sighs, cradles the back of my head and guides my lips to the mahogany peak of a nipple. "Everything is-- ah. Still terrible. It's like the world is ending."

I glance up at the worry in her voice, pull away to press a kiss to her forehead. "Maybe it is. But, I'm here, and if these are our last days there's no one else I'd rather spend them with."

She stares up at me for a moment, slow-blinks at me the same way I do when I meet new cats. "That is so fucked up that that is the most romantic thing you've ever said to me."

I roll away, try to hide my blush and she plasters herself to my back. "I can do better than that!"

She laughs and kisses my shoulder. "We'll see. We've gotten off track though. Come back."

I huff, but turn back over and let her pull me into a long kiss. She gasps out a quiet plea when my hand skims up her side, presses it further until I'm cupping her breast in my hand and she pulls away gasping. My other arm slips around her shoulders, and I press a kiss to her forehead when she turns into me, hides her face in my shoulder. "Lor?" I murmur.

Her "Yeah?" is breathy and bone-melting.

"What else were you reading this morning?"

She whines, tugs my hand towards the juncture of her thighs until I can feel her heat. "Guess."

I let out a laugh and she buries closer to me to hide her embarassment, an attempted rebuttal cut off by a deep moan when I slip my fingertips along her dampness. "Tell me what you want, Lors."

She nips my shoulder and I press my fingertips more firmly against her, get a moan in response. "Fuck. Just get me off. Please."

I turn to press a kiss to her temple and am instead am met with a cloud of unruly curls. "Hair, afterwards. I'll help."

She makes her little noncommital sound and squirms so my fingertips rub across her clit, makes a strangled sound when it doesn't get her what she wants. "Please."

I tease in gentle, slow circles for a minute while I pretend to think it over. "Well, that is the magic world." And I make her cling to me. She digs her fingertips into my back, pants against my neck, building to her orgasm almost immediately. When she comes undone it's with a strangled gasp, whole body trembling against mine as I pull her through the entirety of her orgasm. 

A few moments later, still trying to catch her breath, she warns, "You're next."


	2. Manual Stimulation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both characters have fairly neutral nicknames used, and only one is referred to with any specific pronouns (they/them). Some sort of fingering/manual stimulation does occur, but no genitalia or secondary sexual characteristics are ever mentioned so it's really reader's choice as to what you think is going on exactly.

The sight of B waiting for me in our bedroom knocks all the air out of my lungs, the tantalizing lift of one leg, the line of their side that leads to the hand already lifted, ready to be pinned. And, oh, what a teasing little chemise, deeply cut but still covering.

I must make some sort of sound in response, because they turn to me, give a faint and teasing smile. Things snap back into motion and I approach the edge of the bed, reach out to touch the edge of the fabric, run my fingertips along their side, see the way it drapes across their skin. “Zed?”

And their voice knocks something out of me too. I sink to my knees, reach out to run fingertips through their shaggy and fast-growing hair. “You look astounding. Thank you.”

Their cheeks flare bright red, face turning towards the pillows to hide. I make a soft chiding sound, swoop in to press soft kisses to the pinked skin. “You really like it?”

I can only make a soft sound in response at first, overwhelmed by the gesture, by their confidence and the way the silk drapes across their skin. “I love it. I want to ravage you. Was that the goal here?”

They let out a half chuckle and lean forward to ghost a kiss across my lips. “Gods, yes. I’m sorry I’ve—”

I press our lips together in a quick kiss. “B. Don’t. It’s okay. Gods. Let me… I need to go wash my hands. I want to touch you, if you’ll let me.”

Another half chuckle and a blushing nod. “Just don’t make me wait long.”

I give another quick kiss before moving to our bathroom, washing my hands, and stripping down to underwear before returning to find them waiting for me, laying back with legs spread, knees up. “Dear gods, you’re going to be the death of me some day. What did I ever do to deserve you?”

“I—” Any attempted reply is cut off by a kiss, and soon my hand is being pushed towards their entrance, which I find slick and eagerly awaiting attention.

It’s barely more than a breath of awe when I say, “Oh, love, you’re so ready for me.”

I can feel their blush before they manage to give the strangled, pleasure-adled response. “You took a long time to get home to me.”

I give careful, slow, attentions while we kiss, while I cover their neck and shoulders and chest with kisses, pulling the chemise aside to tease the pebbled skin of pink nipples. Every breath, every shift of their hips, every half-volume moan of pleasure and embarrassment only makes me more intent on pleasing, on making my gorgeous lover fall to pieces and reform under my touch.

At some point the word please slips from their lips in something like a gasp, and I brush a kiss across their forehead. “Tell me what you need.”

“Don’t stop. I’m so—” the thought is interrupted by a moan, their fingertips scrabbling for purchase against the skin of my back.

I ghost another kiss across their forehead with a smile. “Look at you. Coming undone just from my fingers and kisses. So beautiful and so sensitive for me. Just let go, then. Whenever you’re ready. I’ve got you.”

It’s only a moment before they’re teetering on the edge, all hot gasping breath against my neck and shifting hips and fingernails drug along my spine. When the finally come undone it’s with a long, deep moan and encouragement of “Fuck, Zed, yes. Yes! Oh, god. Zed, like that.” until the pleasure is spent, trembling limbs replaced with soft gasps as they catch their breath. When I pull away to wash up a bit their eyes flutter open to take stock, then slip back closed.

“You feeling okay over there?”

“Absolutely boneless. We’re going lingerie shopping tomorrow. Gods, imagine if I’d been in lace.”

I chuckle, and return to find them half-sleeping. I nudge them awake, jerk my head towards the bathroom. “No lingerie for either of us unless you go pee. Then we can sleep, I promise.”

When their pout doesn’t have the intended affect they just groan and toss themselves out of bed, to return a few moments later freshened up and rubbing their eyes. “Sleep now?”

I open my arms and pull them in close to me, run my fingertips through the unruly waves of their hair. “Sleep. No alarms for us tonight.”

“Goodnight, Zed.”

“Goodnight, B.”

“I love you.”

“I know. I love you too."


	3. A Long Courtship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gay guys in a Victorian-esque setting. Kissing, cuddles, blow job

I knew the moment I saw him what the shape of his soul was, the way he felt needing to be out in the world. I approached, drink clutched in my hand like a life-saver in deep waters, like a shield in combat.

I made my voice soft when I asked, “I can show you a nice place to hide from the festivities, if you’d like.”   
  


His smile was immediate: small and tired, but grateful nonetheless. I guided him through the sea of the crowd, along the outer edges until we could step out to the balcony overlooking the garden. When I opened the door he slipped past me like a breeze, stepped to the edge to gaze at the garden below. He spoke as I turned my back to leave him to his seclusion: “Thank you.”

I smiled at his back. “Think nothing of it. Find me at the next party. I always know the good hiding spots.”

He didn’t respond, so I left him to his seclusion and slipped back insde.

At every party for months afterward, he sought me out just long enough for me to guide him to a new hiding place.

Around the beginning of fall, we were at the same memorial service. My family and the deceased’s family had had business together for years, as many other attendees had, but I knew from the way I occasionally caught him biting his lip that it was something more personal for him. I decided to make the approach, just this once.

“Would you mind stepping out with me for a few minutes?”

He stared blindly at me for a moment, opened his mouth as if to say something, but finally just gave me a nod. I guided him by the elbow through the crowd, pulled him into the most secluded bench in the back corner of the garden. He just stood still when I released him, staring off into the distance. I pressed a hand to his shoulder and he jumped just a bit. “Sorry. These things—”

“It’s okay. Just sit.”

He sat down, put his head in his hands. “Thank you.”

I sat next to him, ignored his shifting away, the discomfort that crept into him, and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Take as long as you need. When you’re ready, I’ll go back in with you.”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to—”

“I wasn’t offering. I was telling.”

He snorted, but gave in.

At the end of the night, when I made sure he was dropped safely at home, he said “Thank you.” In much the way he always did, but this time something sounded… different.

The courtship, if you’d choose to call it that, was long. He was fastidious in his attendance to social events for a few months, though he hid himself away in much the way he usually did, but come winter the charade fell away. Every time he missed an event I visited him the next day, sat with him in companionable silence as he read or ate or sipped tea.

I watched the pain lessen, the way that the bits of him that had been injured began to knit back together in a different shape. He never spoke of it, of his late lover, but to me the idea, the knowledge, weighed heavy in the air between us. 

Come spring, his self-exile was over, and it was back to showing him corners to hide in at every social gathering we happened to attend together. Over the weeks, he began to actually speak to me on our short walks together, though barely, and with much caution.

It was around the one year anniversary of his lover’s death when he actually invited me to sit with him. At the end of our short conversation, he asked, “Would you come sit with me on Saturday?”

“When would you like me to come along?”

“At your leisure.”

And so on Saturday I saw him, and we sat together, and he sent away his servants when I’d arrived. I thought he’d be drinking more, but he didn’t. At the end of the evening, we were sitting together, knees touching, and he let me comfort him as we both pretended he wasn’t crying.

I’m still not sure how exactly we got from there to striking out together, moving from family homes to a new city with a rental together. The whole month leading up to it was a whirlwind, but I do remember with crystal clarity his soft voice asking, “Would you like to move with me?” And I of course said yes.

The two year mark passed in silence on his part, and a month or so ago he started to drop these little hints, ask these teasing little questions whenever he had the chance. God, I’ve waited so long for exactly this, and now I can’t get up the courage to do anything about it.

He wakes me late one night by crawling into bed with me. “I’m sorry. I just---”

“It’s fine.”

I open my arms for him, cradle his head against my chest, and hold us closely together until we both drift back off to sleep.

Waking up next to him is a pleasure I have absolutely no tools to properly express. The most prolific of poetry fails to capture even the essence of the experience.

I peak down at him, startle a bit when I realize he’s awake. I smile, reach up to rub the sleep from my eyes. “Morning.”

And suddenly he’s kissing me and he pulls away just as quickly, but then I’m kissing him, and the last two years are gone, and all that exists is the taste of his lips and the press of our bodies, the way his hand slithers under my pyjamas and presses against my skin, the eager tugging of clothes and the desperation of finding his lips again even when neither of us can draw a breath.

When I begin to kiss my way along his soft skin, aiming with restrained urgency to take his manhood into my mouth, he grabs my shoulders as I’m kissing his navel.

“What’s wrong?”

“He never— I don’t know if…. What if I don’t like it?”

I press another gentle kiss, just a fraction lower. “Then you tell me to stop, and I do, and we won’t try it again unless you want to.”

He puffs out a breath. “Steady on, then.”

I press my forehead against the skin of his stomach to help hide my laugh before continuing, make an embarrassingly soft sound when the taste of him blooms on my tongue, and he moans so beautifully for me that I can barely believe it.

“Fuck. Oh. That’s…. wow.”

I nearly-laugh, reach out and pull one of his hands into one of mine before continuing my attentions, only able to focus on his taste and the sounds that escape his best attempts at muffling, and the way he moves for me, all need and embarrassment, until suddenly he’s coming undone for me so completely that he forgets to breathe.

I make sure he’s clean, brush kisses up his torso until I recapture his lips in my own. When he pulls away panting, he presses his face in against my shoulder. “Why did I ever wait so long? You’re never allowed out of this bed again. Or the apartment. I shall keep you forever. All to myself”

I press a kiss to the side of his head. “I’ve been yours for quite a while already.”

He laughs, and kisses me again, presses our foreheads together. “I love you a bit, I think.”

“I love you too.”


End file.
